Diary of My Death
by meras-gift
Summary: When you’re thought forgotten and left alone it is easier to see things. When you’re dead and buried, turned into a pearlywhite ghost, it’s even easier.' Rated M for possibilities.
1. prolouge

**PROLOUGE**

When you're thought forgotten and left alone it is easier to see things. When you're dead and buried, turned into a pearly-white ghost, it's even easier. The only problem is…being invisible makes it harder to be recognized. When you need to give a vital clue out to one in need, in can become quite a task.

But no matter, I can usually find my way around that. I don't want to be recognized. Not by wizard, witch, familiar or hag. The only people to know of my existence are the others like me. Although they allow themselves to be recognized by wizard kind. I do not. I'm much happier this way. Being able to see and not be seen gives one many tales to tell…some of my own, some of others.

Incase you were wondering who I was, I will tell you that I am now the ghost of Hermione Granger. Born -19th September, 1980, Died – January 23rd, 1997, mere months from completeing my NEWTS.

This is my story and the gathered stories of others as I see fit to unveil them…


	2. Chapter 1

**CHAPTER ONE**

I suppose I should start from the beginning. Or as much of a beginning as you can call it. At the end of my life…the beginning of my death.

My own death. That's a toughie. I don't remember too much of it. Until I'd left my own body, I didn't even know it had happened.

It was murder, I know that for sure. I had felt the cool blade slide in under my spine. Then nothing. It hurt for but a split second, and was so brief I wasn't fully aware of what exactly had happened.

The coward who did it murdered me as I was huddled over a particularly large tome I had been reading in the library. That's how the librarian - Madam Pince - found me the next morning when she unlocked the place. With blank, staring eyes, devoid of the life I once possessed.

I can still remember her screaming when she found me. I have suspicion that that was what awoke the spirit still lying dormant inside my dead body. The reason I'm still here, as a ghost, is because of the vocal shock Madam Pince had voiced that day. Had it not been for her, I may have moved on. But as it were to happen, I didn't. I stayed, to help and to hinder the mortal beings that crossed my path. I stayed to try and piece together the clues about my murder.

I, the newly deceased Hermione Granger, vowed that morning I would get the answers I sought. If you read my carefully filed school records, you will see that I never failed.

And I don't intend to now.


	3. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO**

Madam Pince's hysterics upon finding my lifeless body that morning marked an important moment of my ghosthood. I saw from an aerial viewpoint (not that that's uncommon to me now) professors and students alike rushing towards her.

I saw them swarm to my dead body. Saw professors steer the students away as quick as they could come. I watched as McGonagall tried to keep her tears in long enough to decide on how the matter of my death should be handled. The whole time I was there, no-one noticed. Later I learnt from the Grey Lady the trick to being seen. Though I cannot say I've ever needed to use it.

An hour or so after the initial discovery I watched my now useless carcass being carried from the library by Hagrid. I followed Hagrid out to a small shed I hadn't known existed, and was witness to the way we are preserved until the mourning.

I traveled to my old dorm and watched them pack my things so carelessly. Throwing my life into a big dark box that was to be sent to my parents.

Days later I was taken by Myrtle to my own funeral. As I watched friend after friend, family, teachers and creatures pay their respects to my now useless body something stirred inside me. The numbness I had been feeling after my death left me, and I could think clearly again. It was as Harry closed the lid to my coffin and they lowered me into a tomb that I knew I must find out who had done this to me. Who had taken my life without my consent.

For awhile after my burial I stayed near my tomb, until those I used to call my friends stopped coming to see me. When they no longer felt any pain at losing the 'Brilliant' Hermione Granger.

And everyday that I was out there, Myrtle sent out some poor innocent transparent figure she had found walking through some wall or another to come check on me. Grudgingly most accepted, for fear of what sort of tantrum she might chuck at them.

I've decided Myrtle must be the only person, Alive or not, who cared for me. When she first started to care for me and guide me through my first steps of ghosthood I regretted the way I'd treated her when I was alive a lot. In second grade I was so nasty to her, thinking that as a ghost it wouldn't matter. But it does. We dead still feel. And what hurts most is knowing that no-one really cares that you're gone.

So Harry and Ron visited my grave for the first few months. They've forgotten now. They forget until they need my help. Sometimes when I go through the dormitories at night, I hear them praying for guidance. They pray to me for help. Yet they cannot walk a hundred meters or so to lay a flower upon my forgotten grave. So I ignore them for the most part. Unless they're in danger, I think I'll let them work it out for themselves for a change. Give them some practice for their NEWTS.


End file.
